“Don’t be that guy. Don’t be that guy,” I told myself over and over again.
I was in the parking lot of one of the big-box hardware stores. Most people dread going into stores like these. I dread leaving them. Having loaded far too many things onto a heavy-duty cart, and now wondering how to load it into my 2008 Honda Element. It’s a vehicle that weighs less than the store’s cart, and no longer has any suspension, thanks to continuously hauling far too many things. Its cargo area was actually intended for bags of cotton candy.
Don’t … be … that … guy!
We all know him. We’ve all seen him. Sometimes on the side of the road. After his crudely- loaded haul of hardware supplies spills onto the highway. We’ve all pitied him. Or snickered. Me? I usually commiserate.
“Dang!” I say, and do the sign of the cross. “That could have been me!”
So … don’t be that guy. Don’t be that guy.
I had bought 10 4X8-foot wall panels to install in my attic. For the safe capacity of my vehicle, my calculations determined it was exactly 10 too-many. I pushed them out into the lanes of parked trucks that were as large as some zip codes. They were massive pickups that could easily haul huge loads of lumber, or even elephants. Some pulled trailers as if to add insult to injury. “See?” they would say. “The elephants could go in the truck bed, or if I’m feeling spicy, they could lounge in the trailer.”
My little blue Honda Element was parked among them.
Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t drop stuff. Don’t look stupid.
I always look stupid. Here I have 10-too-many panels, which in no stretch of the imagination are going to fit into the hold of my Element. And people are seeing which vehicle I’m pulling up to and starting to stare at me. They’re look says, “Does that guy think he can get 10-too-many panels into that … uh … well, what IS that thing? Even my smallest elephant could pick it up!”
And I get this. I am fully aware of this. I know that it doesn’t look like it will hold them. But I have a bit of secret knowledge: There IS a way that it can do it. It’s a combination of artistry, magic and panicked ingenuity. Unfortunately, I have forgotten how to do it. Now I’ll have to fumble about while trying different things until I remember.
Sometimes people walk by and offer to help. Sometimes they pause, consider it and then quickly walk away realizing a doomed expedition when they see it.
I actually don’t want help. Because then I would have to explain to these good Samaritans that I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to pull of this Houdini act in reverse.
“Why don’t you just strap it to the roof with some Christmas tree twine?” someone will ask.
“No, no,” I will tell them. “There’s a way to do this, OK? I just can’t remember what it is. Alright, maybe we’re supposed to lay the car on its side?”
A crowd starts to form. “Honey, come look at what this imbecile over here is trying to do,” I hear someone say. “See? He bought 10-too-many panels and he thinks he can get them in the hatch of that car the size of a cricket. I mean, this is gripping drama!”
Another guy goes to buy a hot dog and gets a lounge chair out of his truck.
Don’t look at them, I think. Look confident. Look like you know what you’re doing.
But I don’t know what I’m doing. If I did, I wouldn’t have bought 10 panels. I mean, it can’t carry 10 panels!
Only, that’s not true, I remind myself. My little vehicle has carried way more than that. It’s carried 10 sheets of plywood once, remember? Yeah, I mean, that was pretty sketchy, and way beyond its weight limit. But I got them in there. Still can’t remember how, but I did it.
Except, these panels are flimsy. They flap about like fish as I try to shove them in. They bend and buckle. They might snap in half. Fold up like a greeting card. They’re no good to me that way.
“Forget the semantics, you fool!” I bark at myself. “People are watching. Just make this happen and let’s go home!”
Oh my gosh, that’s right. Even if I get them in there, I still have to get them home! Have to keep them from sliding out the back. Have to prevent them from shattering into a million pieces every time I hit a pothole. Have to make sure I don’t capsize the entire vehicle as I turn a corner. That could happen, you know? I saw it happen to a guy!
Oh, don’t be that guy. Don’t be that guy.
I loaded them as carefully as I could. I secured them with a frayed, sketchy ratchet strap. I pulled away gently, and drove slowly. Like Grandpa Benny slowly. I waved politely to the crowd and looked for potholes. I took a deep breath and somehow managed it. Somehow made it home. Somehow avoided “being that guy.” At least this time. But I’ll be back. I always am. I’m building up to the day when I get it in my mind that an elephant might fit back there. Maybe the secret is parking on an incline and pulling the rear seats out completely.